Harper's Handjob

Harper is a girl's name. It's something that I've heard all my life, and to be honest, they may have been right all along. Harper is a girl's name, so I didn't have to change it.

I grew up in rural Tennessee, in a double wide trailer. My mom never stayed with one man for very long or at the same time. She cycled through them three at a time usually. One a night until she got bored with each of them then she tossed them aside.

Ricky was the only male in my life, he is my brother. He never really took to me the way a brother should, he was already ten by the time I was born. By the time I was ten, he had moved into his own trailer with his own family.

My only companion was my sister, Kristal. She was popular in our high school, I was not. I was only ten months older than Kristal, no surprise given mom's ability to attract men. Kristal was who I confided in and maybe that was part of the reason it happened. I emulated her.

I came about dressing around the age of twelve. I mistakenly put on a pair of Kristal's jeans one morning instead of my own. I realized the mistake as soon as I noticed that they were button fly. I switched them out for mine and went about my business, but the seed was planted.

I kept thinking about how they cradled my butt. They were so much tighter than my jeans, the feeling was alluring to me. So much so, that when I had the trailer to myself I would put them on and walk around.

By sixteen my red shock of hair had grown long and unkempt. I didn't socialize much with the other kids and at home I was slipping on Kristal's or my mother's clothing whenever I could get away with it. I had had three girlfriends by then. Gina; I kept her pink boy shorts, Katie; I swiped her sunflower bikini, and Beth; who I was with at that time and still deciding on what to take.

When I was eighteen I had long used up Beth's nylon stockings. I had one or two more souvenirs by then though. I was also working in Mr. Thompson's hardware store to pay for college. By that point I was wearing panties to work under my clothes.

Work was alright. Most days I stocked shelves as customers were scarce. On the occasions that people did come in I would ring out their purchases and not much else. Mr. Thompson was nice enough to me at least.

He had spent the first half of his adult life as a carpenter. His arms were banded with muscle but his love of pilsner had softened his gut. His thick, handlebar mustache matched his southern twang. He had never married and for the longest time I didn't know why.

One night, at about six o'clock, Mr. Thompson asked me to stay and do inventory with him. I needed the money, and had no plans. So I said, sure. His store wasn't very big so I knew it wouldn't take but an hour to do. I started in the back of store counting plumbing pieces.

I was hard at work, sitting on the floor and counting PVC fittings and jotting the numbers of each piece down on my paper. I barely notice Mr. Thompson when he walked up behind me. He waited until I had my count finished and said, "I, uh...I'm finished up front if you'd like a hand?"

"Sure," I said back to him. I couldn't help but notice the awkwardness with which Mr. Thompson spoke now. Everything he said was shaky and distracted. I didn't immediately know why, but it quickly dawned on me.

I had been on the floor, bending and leaning, stretching and grabbing. With all the movement my shirt had risen and my jeans had shifted. The lacy elastic band of my panties was showing. I was mortified. I didn't know if I should react, if I made a move to hide it he'd know. I couldn't explain it off either. What would I say, that I had ran out of boxers to wear so I grabbed my sister's panties?

Funny part was, they weren't even Kristal's.

I decided to keep working and hope that nothing became of it. The rest of that evening, Mr. Thompson was borderline distraught. He stammered his way through everything he said to me for the rest of the night. His face was blotchy from embarrassment and he was getting fidgety for such an otherwise confident man.

When the night ended I was sure that my job at the hardware store was over, but to my amazement Mr. Thompson kept me on. Over the next few weeks I slowly noticed that he would have me do things like re-organize items that were on the top shelves or clean underneath of things. It took me a while to catch on, but I eventually did.

By the end of that month it was time to do another round of inventory. At the end of the night Mr. Thompson closed up shop so that we could begin. I slipped into the bathroom. I had snuck in a pair of Kristal's jeans when I came in that day, and stashed them out of sight.

My legs prickled up against the cool air in the stall. It would have been enough to make the hairs on my legs stand up on end, if my legs had any. I pointed my toes and slid one leg into my sister's pants. My heart thumped loudly in my chest and despite the creeping sense of dread, I felt a bristle of excitement from under my panties.

Tonight I was wearing a lavender thong. Compliments of my last ex, it was a small, silky triangle of fabric. I was barely able to restrain myself behind it, but god did it feel good against my skin. With nothing on my cheeks, I could more fully enjoy the snugness of the denim against my backside.

I buttoned up the fly, which helped to restrain the thickening excitement under my silken panties. Without being noticed I went back to work counting boxes of screws. I counted quickly, half because of nerves and half because I wanted to work my way deeper into the store.

Mr. Thompson was tapping his finger against the fuzz of his lip when we met up near the paint counter in the back of the store. I saw him do a double take when he noticed my ass. He said nothing, but I could see the strain in his brow. He couldn't remember if my jeans had been this tight before. He knew my ass looked good.

"Harper," he said when he'd worked up some nerve, "why don't you start on the bottom, and I'll start up top?"

"Okay, Mr. Thompson." I replied. I tried to sound as natural and unassuming as possible, but I'm not sure if I was truly able to hide the tremor in my voice.

I got down on my knees and reached forward until I felt my shirt rise up over my hips. Mr. Thompson cleared his throat and scurried over to the shelf beside me. I could hear him breathing, quick, shallow breaths from beside me. From the corner of his eye I could make out his head turn to look down at me.

I stole glances too. I noticed the bulge in his pants, the khaki material strained behind his fly. By now I was hard as well. Maybe that was why I did what I did next. I reached up and grabbed a can of spray paint that was right in front of his crotch.

He jumped back instinctively. Sweat was pouring from his scalp and his mouth was agape. He calmed down when he realized that I was just going for the spray paint. I put the can on the floor, I didn't actually need it.

My lips were dry now, my head was spinning with lust. The words came out on their own, "did you think I was going for your..."

I pointed to his cock.

"I...Yes," Mr. Thompson sputtered, "yeah, I did for a second."

"Did you want me too?" I said and I was deathly serious. My eyes stared directly into his. By now, my brain stopped fighting me. It was just he and I, and I wouldn't tell anyone. I was damn certain he wasn't going to talk either.

He didn't answer. His eyes darted around, I wasn't sure if he was looking for someone to help him or that no one would see him. We were alone. I was horny, so was he.

"Can I touch it?" I asked. This time he nodded.

I reached out and placed my hand flat against his pants. I felt the hard bulge underneath and gasped. I gripped it through the fabric and ran my hand up and down its length, it was difficult to see what it looked like under that fabric, but I was about to correct that problem.

I clutched his zipper in my other hand and slid it down. He shifted uncomfortably as the reality of what I was about to do sank in. I reached in and snaked my hand into his boxers and along the heat of his pelvis. I pulled him free and got a good look at him. What his cock lacked in length it made up for in girth. For good measure I freed his balls too.

His was the first cock that I had held. I pumped my shaking hand up and down, the other hand cradled his scorching hot scrotum. Mr. Thompson groaned quietly while I tended to his needs. It felt natural to me to jack him off.

Soon, I was fluidly rubbing his shaft and twisting my wrist at the peak of each pump. I felt my posture change. I was losing what little about me was still masculine in that moment. My back arched to stick out my ass, my head tilted to look up at him through half closed eyes.

"Are you gonna cum for me, Mr. Thompson?" I husked through pouted lips.

Some part of me was disgusted by my words, by my actions. The rest of me was begging for this man to shoot his load at me so that I could validate the slut that I had just let loose upon the world. All of the dressing I had done, the fantasies, the toying had all secretly been in case something like this happened.

I heard Mr. Thompson grunt. My eyes dropped down to his engorged head. The slit of his cock was glistening with the pre-cum that had been steadily leaking while I massaged his deserving girth. His veiny length was throbbing. I could feel him twitch in my hand, he was close and I was going to push him over the edge.

He shuddered as I ran one finger delicately along the underside of his heavy balls. That was it. He moaned and his knees buckled. I couldn't help but shout to him, "Yes baby, cum!"

A thick, sticky band of cum shot out of his tortured cock. I couldn't take my eyes off of his spitting cock, but I felt the heat of his blast land on my forearm. The rest of his load shot onto the floor and puddled between my knees. I pulled at his cock as it softened and when the last of his cum oozed from the tip, I collected it.

I took the last droplet of cream and placed it on my tongue. It was salty with a twinge of his strictly coffee diet. I loved it. It made me feel like I was his, to have his semen in my mouth. I wanted more, but it was clear that he had none left for me tonight.

When I released his cock he put it away quickly and retreated to his office. I cleaned up my mess and went back to the bathroom and stripped out of Kristal's pants. My cock had leaked all over my thong, staining the crotch with my syrupy pre-cum. Still gripped by lust I slid my cock over the band of the thong and stroked it feverishly.

My cock seemed so thin compared to his. I could wrap my fingers all the way around it, unlike Mr. Thompson's, yet that only made it better for me. I assaulted my cock until I shot a load of my own into the toilet.

I couldn't believe what I had done. Even that night in bed, all I could do was lay there in the dark and rub myself through the clean panties that I changed into when I got home.